A flint sharp foundation of frantic guitars 'neath a mighty orchestral atmosphere, complete with melodic folk music entities and poetic intrigues.
The stage is set for
WEB OF WYRD
Ye Pagan Mettle Theatre!
WEB OF WYRD was officially born in 2001 as a studio based project. A handful of stray songs paved the way for the first demo in 2003.
But no sooner had the project gained momentum when it fell dead in its tracks. Internal conflicts and personal crises deadlocked everything and postponed a second demo indefinitely.
After a lengthy hiatus in Limbo, WEB OF WYRD was eventually reborn and began recording the long delayed demo at last. Completed in December 2007 'By an Image Graven an Offering Burnt' continues and refines what has gone before and possibly hints about things to come.
WEB OF WYRD is currently composing and preparing new material which will be recorded later this year.
Freya's Furore!
Burnt
Offerings
An Exorcism Due for Me
Unwelcome
Whoso read this threnody;
-Call for Father Merrin!
This body free without, won't flee
the haunting host that's therein
Whate'er grave to hellfire's
perpetual damnation,
fail'd, should it try to be worse
than this abomination
Any structure, be it bone or steel
must to certain natural laws give in
It may seem to outer assaults yield
but falleth from the weaknesses within
Nowhere to run as is
no place to hide
for the prey stalk'd
by a hunter inside
In slough of despond
Beelzebub hath me noosed
Lachrymal I witness
my being abused
Birds of ill omen and
a stampede of horses
pick clean the guts and
thro' arteries courses
With heartsinking worries
flounder hope with unrest
Lachrymal I witness
my being possess'd
Lord of My Manner?
Shivering down their lair spined
twisting nerves and sinews
Driving ration out of mind
insanity to induce
Gall and wormwood beckon me
to apathetic alarm
The puppet danceth helplessly
beneath these masters' strung charm
Any danger possible to feel
abide too by the same natural law
Flesh or iron may compose a shield
but help not much against the threat of awe
Nothing to do and
none to his aid
who hath of fear itself
fallen afraid
In waking a nightmare
Zamiel hath me guyved
Lachrymal I witness
my being deprived
All loseth meaning
with waning willpowers
Slower and slower
pass darkest of hours
As hopelessness can't wait
to implode this breast
Lachrymal I witness
my being possess'd
Douse holy water on Depression
The power of Christ compels thee!
O'er Angst incantations chant
The power of Christ compels thee!
A crucifix 'bout Panic huddle
The power of Christ compels thee!
Phobia at last exorcise
All is Well that Ends Well...
Outnumber'd by Inner demons
Mettle parrieth but poor
When fell'd is that final defense
what was I shall be no more
My spirit with these spirits
cannot hope to co-exist
'Fore I let both out the wrist
Someone fetch an exorcist!